Erin K’s Story

Rich and I got married in the hot summer heat in July of 2012, already pregnant with a surprise baby to kick off our journey to being parents. It wasn’t a smooth ride, but looking back and reflecting — it was by far the smoothest pregnancy I would experience. Having two boys, five years apart, wasn’t the plan but it became a comfortable one with time. We just got busy with life and milestones that expanding our family wasn’t front and center. But we had Dylan and Wesley and life felt chaotic and joyful.

In 2019, I became pregnant with our third baby. It was unexpected. The idea of a third child quickly became a dream. And just like that, it was gone. After blood draws and a few ultrasounds we heard the dreaded “there is no heartbeat.” It was a rollercoaster. A rollercoaster I didn’t know existed. The loss of this pregnancy was devastating and hard to overcome. And it kicked off a series of events that made 2019 a hard year from start to finish. From losing my job to my mom being diagnosed with breast cancer to having a chemical pregnancy while training in a new job. It was the year that hurled me into the harsh reality that normalcy is not guaranteed.

In the spring of 2021, I became pregnant again. And just like in 2019, this baby wasn’t here to stay. We had lost my husband’s mother earlier in the year and decided to take a beach trip the first week of summer to get away from it all. We got away, had a really wonderful time, and on the final day of our trip — I started to bleed. I was miscarrying at 11 weeks. And everything that vacation offered, gone in an instant. The morning after we got home, I headed to the ER. I had an emergency D&C. I was in total disbelief. I was also diagnosed with unexplained recurrent miscarriages. From there, I was referred to a specialist and felt like I was on an island.

I made all of the appointments. They ran and performed every test they could and everything came back normal. Seemed impossible with what was going on. How could one person go through this much? And not know why?

While going through everything, we became pregnant again. I didn’t hold my breath this time. I didn’t cross my fingers. I didn’t dream of any sort of future. I just sat with the information and rode the most unsettling wave in private. Appointment after appointment — things looked good. We got out of the first trimester and I started to feel hopeful. And then we graduated from our specialist and headed back to my normal OB. I bought bedding, bottles, and a few outfits. We even gave our girl her name — the one I had in my back pocket in 2012 before learning our first was a boy. At an early anatomy ultrasound at 18 weeks, it became apparent something horrible was happening. What is usually a long appointment ended within 5-10 minutes. My husband was optimistic but I knew something was very, very wrong. My OB came in the room with every bit of color drained from her face to tell me the pregnancy had a lot of issues being seen on the ultrasound. The only thing she told me – low amniotic fluid and echogenic bowel was seen. She wouldn’t go into detail and wouldn’t look me in the eye. She just kept telling me she was so sorry. I was scheduled with an MFM for the very next day and through hours of ultrasounds the hope of welcoming Mara into the world came crashing down. She wasn’t going to live. They walked me through each issue happening, potentially why it was happening, and the overall impact. It was a nightmare. It was even more horrific than I even imagined from the day before.

Because I had virtually no amniotic fluid, Mara’s head, hands, and feet were deformed, and she had echogenic bowel — they explained with low or no lung development meant brain development was impacted. And she was being crushed because of the lack of space around her. I was told, that at some point Mara would feel pain and would be unable to sleep or rest. This gutted me. I couldn’t protect her inside or out.

Just three days before Christmas in 2021, we opted to terminate the pregnancy. Mara wasn’t going to live and knowing pain was in her future was not something we could live with. Out of love, we ended the pregnancy. My husband handled funeral home arrangements and shuffling our living children around. He was truly a saint while going through everything alongside me.

I started having high blood pressure while going through ultrasounds and everything that came next. Everyone attributed it to what was going on and how stressful it was. Not even a week after losing Mara, I rushed to the emergency room with signs of pre-eclampsia with severe features. I spent multiple days in the hospital — in labor and delivery. Surrounded by the hustle and bustle of people having babies, and there I was without a baby, and fearing having a seizure or dying. It added insult to injury and I advocated for getting out of the hospital as fast as possible. Promising to monitor blood pressures, take medication and follow up with doctors.

After losing Mara, I connected with other loss families through social media and started advocating for TFMR. I was struggling with PTSD and trauma brain while grieving Mara. I wasn’t sure what to do next. I didn’t feel like myself, my brain wasn’t braining right, and the world was just moving along like nothing happened.

After a year or so, I decided that a third living child wasn’t in the cards for our family. I was ready to tell my husband that I was done trying. My heart couldn’t take anymore. And one morning before I had the chance to tell him, I had the weird hiccup burp happen. I knew it all too well. It happened with my boys, and Mara. So I decided to test and sure enough, pregnant. I told our family dog, Scarlett, and sat with the information for a few days before telling Rich. I was terrified.

I carried Mara’s younger sister, Caroline, for 36 weeks and delivered early due to signs of pre-eclampsia looming. I stayed with the MFM that helped me with Mara’s final diagnosis. She had seen me at my worst and handled PAL with such kindness and patience. She also told me she was going to do everything she could to keep Caroline and I safe. I am truly thankful. Caroline is now two years old. And I tell people she has the spunk and spiciness of two toddlers — she’s delivering what her sister couldn’t.

Pregnancy and infant loss, infertility, and mental health issues are a big part of our story and we extend our thoughts to those in the thick of it. I have learned with time that grief and joy can coexist. I hope that others find this footing through their journeys too.